Fool Me Twice
by mentaly
Summary: Anna would never have expected to run away from Arendelle, from her sister, ever. But some selfish decisions and a horse ride later, there they were, and there he was. Hans. And he was beautiful, but she knew: he was dangerous. (This is a Hanna fic. Avoid reading if this is your NOTP, but if you do, please no hate comments about the ship. Double POV, 3rd p.)


The prince is slumped on the slate flooring, and his breath creates a mist before him as he holds himself tight, a futile attempt at shielding himself from the cold.

 _You are Prince Hans._

 _You are one with the cold._

He figures his inability to keep himself warm physically can be helped with internalization. "She's right, you know. You are cold because your heart is frozen," he repeats to himself, never mind how ridiculous he sounded. He has to do something to fend hypothermia away, and besides, it isn't an unfamiliar experience for him to converse with his thoughts.

"You are cold, you are frozen."

He looks around the room and his face twists in disgust. Moss-covered walls, dusty wooden beds, and the faint smell of bad hygiene. My god, what an ignominy. "This is no place for a _prince_ ," he mutters, trying not to think about what miscreant occupied the cell prior to his arrest. He shakes his head as if the shadows cast by the cell bars fail to remind him that he is no better, and that come a week's time, he will be e––

 _Creeaaaak_ , echoes the door from the end of the hallway, momentarily distracting him from his thoughts. He gets up and steps towards the prison bars, seeing if he can catch a glimpse of this new identity in the hallway. But he realizes how little it matters. He is trapped inside there after all, and his only hope of escape, or at the very least, redemption, is most likely slumbering the night away on a soft, warm bed, miles from where he stood. Of course, there is the possibility that this 'hope' had been the one to open the door, but that possibility stays slim as it fails to make any sort of sense. After everything he's done, why would she, of all people, come back for him? Why would she ever feel the need to see his face again? Why would she _care_?

All the contemplating brings about a slight headache, so he pinches the bridge of his nose, only to jerk his head back in pain. Apparently, his previously broken nose hasn't completely healed. He curses at himself for forgetting, and tries to recall how her fist felt against his freckled face. Not that he was a masochist. For her fist felt like rock, but it smelled like lilacs.

He curses at himself a second time. _Stop thinking about her, you fool_.

Calculated steps resonate through the walls of the prison, and each one grows gradually in volume. Eyes closed, he leans his forehead against the cold metal bars, his hands gripping on them tightly. He tries not to think about his impending fate, although hearing the steps coming closer impedes this attempt. Soon enough, he feels a presence stop in front of him, but he does not open his eyes, apathetic – or seemingly so – to whoever is there to see him.

"Prisoner," says a stern voice, and judging from how deep and low and bleak it was, Hans' speculation is confirmed: it is, indeed, not the Princess. He sighs in defeat, his grasp on the bars loosening. Slowly, he opens his soul windows but keeps his head rested on the metal. "I am _Prince_ Hans of the Southern Isles. You will address me as such," he says in the firmest tone deemed possible, although to no avail, as the other replies with a condescending chuckle.

"Look around you. You are a traitor, and a prisoner, nothing more."

He glares up at the individual. _The nerve of this imbecile_ , he thinks to himself, but keeps his mouth shut. Somehow, he has a point – the title he holds means nothing inside a prison cell. He is stuck there, helpless and _alone_.

But he isn't about to admit any of that.

"Have you come here to insult me? I can assure you, none of that will do you any good. I have been treated _far_ worse than whatever you are trying to do here," he retorts, shaking his head as he studies his provoker from head to toe. Columnar dark spring green hats with visors, neatly pressed robes of the same color decorated with the Arendelle symbol – the _crocus_ , and knee-high leather boots that shone even in the dim prison light. A guard who was either of high stature, or a new recruit. Or he could just be incredibly fussy over the state of his uniform.

He smiles slyly, keeping his gloved hands at his sides. It makes the Prince slightly uncomfortable, but he maintains his composure. He might be playing tricks on him, or testing his fortitude – whatever it is, he _has_ to win this exchange, even if he has the disadvantage of being the 'villain' here. A cold drop of sweat trickles along his right sideburn, but he resists wiping it off, not willing to offer him the satisfaction of seeing him nervous. "If you expect me to feel remorseful, then you shall be disappointed. I am certain that there is nothing 'far worse' than execution."

He gulps. It is no surprise to him – the Queen announced his execution right after the Great Thaw. Since it was already scheduled, there was no time to summon his family for assistance – but even then, they probably wouldn't notice his absence until he was actually _dead_.

"I have come here to tell you that the date of your execution has been moved."

A pause. "––wait, _what_?"

For a moment, his chest flutters. Is it possible that the Queen has had a change of heart? Granted, it isn't a cancellation, but rather a _delay_ , though perhaps she isn't as cruel as they all make her out to be. Perhaps, but it is too soon to assume. His face then falls with a hint of worry; he hasn't even considered the alternative. He keeps his eyes on the guard, green hues almost glimmering with hope. "And why is that?"

"Her Majesty has changed her mind. She has an entire kingdom to run, after all. And at the moment, she cannot do it with a pending treason case on her hands," he explains, the smile lingering on his lips. Why is he _smiling_? This worries Hans, and pushes him to ask something he may regret. But he needs to know.

"When?"

The guard's smile grows. Somehow, this makes his heart drop more than the uniformed man's next words, or _word_ , rather. "Tomorrow."

* * *

 _( Oh my god, I missed writing Frozen! I haven't posted on here in over a year, wow. Anyway. This is something I came up with last night and decided to share with those who still give a shit about this movie, aha. It's a dramatic change in style in comparison to my past works, especially since I don't usually write in present tense, but I hope y'all liked it nonetheless! I've also plotted out the next few chapters, but I don't know if I end up continuing? If this gets enough support, maybe owo Either way though, thank you for reading! Constructive criticism is always welcome c: )_


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